sttncfandomcom-20200214-history
The Sword pt I
The sea of Kri’stak runs around my feet, my toes sinking into the black sand. It was warm as blood. Oddly, this comforts me. '' ''The most loyal of my men… my Hand of Fire, kneel on the beach behind me. They have kept faith these long months, while I’ve recused myself from the throne. I’m virtually a hermit and no one understands. I’m giving the Empire time it needs to breath – it is young, and has no idea how quickly its throat could be cut. In times of war, even children must become soldiers. '' ''They say we killed our Gods. I say we killed our tyrant Creator, and scared the rest off. My people are violent and cruel. They are shortsighted and small minded. They are fierce and proud. They are noble and glorious. For too long, we were ruled through the shame in our hearts, but my people need never feel that way again. They do not need to look to aliens for their salvation – they must merely walk the path they’ve started. '' “''O’Gat”, I said, summoning my trusted friend. “Have they finished my tomb?” '' “''They have, in the deepest heart of the caves. But it seems foolish,” the only thing uglier than O’Gat’s swordsmanship was his smile, “…as long as we are at your side, you will never die!” The other’s cheered… but I think they knew. We had all seen too much. '' “''Do you remember the vats?” I asked. “''Our brothers and sisters, grown in tubes from pale, wrinkled twistings of flesh? How could I forget?”'' We had laid siege to his asteroid, his Throne. For weeks our forces had pushed Molor back… but at a brutal cost. Myself, the others… we slipped through his lines like a knife, assaulting the compound. In that moment, many believed we assaulted the gates of Sto’Vo’Kor itself. We didn’t find the monster… but we did find the afterlife. Thousands of vats, filled with our brothers and sisters. We were not the divine creation of God… we were specimens grown in a lab. We became less that day… and yet so much more. '' “''One day brothers, we will have the technology of Molor. We will grasp it. Not just the machines, but all of it. The star walking. The prescience. The cloning technology. On that day, we will have truly made the Deceiver’s weapons our own.” '' “''They are too powerful,” this was Kollus, First Sword of the Hand. “The only weapons a true warrior needs are his blade and his heart.” And his teeth and his nails and a good disruptor if you can get your hands on one. But that wasn’t the point; “You speak true Kollus. Strong weapons are like strong drink; they make the arm mighty, but the mind weak.” O’Gat pounded his heart: “Mighty Kahless, the Hand will never fail the Empire. Long after we are dead, and the Empire stands victorious across the stars, the legend of your deeds shall burn in the heart of all men…” '' ''My third, quiet To’Kor, cleared his throat: “… unless the Hand has crumbled. Unless the Klingon mind has turned to darkness, and blood to bile. Unless the Empire fell under shadow once again. Perhaps not to Molor… but one with a heart as black. A legend is just a story made up of words, and words are the most deadly weapon of all.” I drew my dak’tagh – my men did not flinch. “You are right, old friend,” I told him, “when that technology lies open to them, the temptation will be great. They will need to remember what matters, and words may not be enough. They will need a guide.” '' ''With a slash, it was done. I handed him my severed finger. “Bury it in my place… I have unfinished business with the stars. When the people are ready, when the secrets of the galaxy open up to them, when they lose their way… the faithful will find me again.” Kollus almost spat; “And you will be a clone puppet. A meat creature will wear your face – “ “''Do you remember the first time you died Kollus? I seem to remember a Vulcan Lirpa taking off your head, and yet here you stand. Tell me you are not you. Tell me you did not learn from your beheading.”'' The three were silent; the water was warm between my toes: “When they ask you of this day, and they will, tell them everything.” There was only one place I could think of, one place left to me... cold as death. '' “''Tell them it ends on Boreth.” '' ''-Excerpt, “The Book of Kahless” }}---- the sword of Azaram –--- {{ = They told me I had an office. Why I would need an office I have no idea, but I assume it’s to a purpose – I’m doing little else these past two days beside drive my crew mad. My father won’t talk to me… filled with questions, tormented by the unknown, he’s letting me boil. They tell me that his mind has started to become unraveled, that time and place slip away from him; they don’t understand that this has always been my father’s way – why answer a question when, given time, it will answer itself? My mother would often strike him, the two of them regularly ruining the furniture of our home. She would always make him a dish however – fresh, cold cooked gahk, which he would eat with his hands. Perhaps I could win by guile what I couldn’t with sincerity. On the surface I met a Gorn by the name Krekar. He was Red Path, to the bone. There are so many of us now, faces I’ve never seen. I should speak to Lincasa, ensure that they’re receiving the proper words… but I can’t stand that woman. The office was nice, I suppose. It had windows, and a desk. And a computer terminal from which I could access… essentially nothing. The one thing of note: my father has been here almost two years. When I saw him… he looked little older then when I remember him leaving, some 20 years ago. I remember a term from his journal, a word Nezzak could barely explain: chronometrics. ''Time Travel. ''T''he ''gahk ''had an interesting effect on Korath; it anchored his thoughts. Admittedly, he thought I was a child, and that we were eating over the family table… but at least he could focus. I had questions, and I wasn’t going to squander the opportunity to ask. There was one thing on my mind, something I had been holding onto since I learned of my… genetic heritage. As a clone… was I born of my mother? “You were born from a vat,” he told me, red dribbling down his chin. “Your mother is one of us. She respects me… but she loves you.” He spoke as if she was only in the next room. I wanted to know what they had been doing; what lie did they feed her to go along with such a monstrosity? He grew furious. “The Empire is sick, the galaxy rots. Do you think we were doing something petty? Stupid boy, all grown up and still slow witted. Kahless told us that he would return, how did you expect him to arrive? On a winged chariot, riding from the gates of ''Sto’ vo’kor? He would return because we needed him; he would return because we were ready. We were men… but we weren’t growing an army… we were growing a savior.” My father was deluded, mad… but I am Me, and I am no monstrosity. I listened to his words… and he told me a story. Years ago, as per the legend, he had labs on Boreth. Funded by House Duras, they began their endeavors, little knowing that the DNA they were working from wasn’t Kahless, but his brother Morath. When that clone was crafted, he was imperfect, without his genetic memory… but because Worf interfered, and because they knew that his next creation might not be so tractable, they put the False Kahless on his throne. All the while, I was being crafted… and my father kept me safe. “Tell me,” he begged, panic in his eyes, “in your heart, tell me… are you Kahless?” I could not tell him, because I did not know. “I just a man who will do his best to set the universe right.” Though Khaegor is his blood, I am his son. My father knows that he dies over an Earth city called Las Vegas, many years in that planet’s past, killed by the Picard. Between then and now however, he has no plans, other than be faithful to Kahless reborn. “And what should I do with this trust?” I asked, my fists clenching. He shrugged, looking to the heavens: “There is always more space.” -----//------ The Kuv Vo’Kahless ''is heading to the Gamma quadrant. As we approach the outpost Deep Space Nine, we keep to ourselves – there’s a cloaked Federation ship hanging in space, but we are not here for them. We are on a quest. Worf approached me not long after I had spoken to my father. His entire manner to me was different; some kind of change had come over him. It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing, so unlike the stern Ambassador: I was seeing Faith. He told me a story, of a vision he had had as a young man, a vision of Kahless – he hadn’t wanted to believe, but it was my face he saw. Worf was Red Path to the bone. Perhaps, given time, he would become a true ''De Vo’lw. There was a mission he once undertook, with his lover and the Daha Master Kor, a quest in search of an artifact. Though they were successful, its power was too much, and they left hidden in space. “Now I understand,” he told me, “It was not meant for us. The Sword… it is meant for you.” They call it the Sword of Kahless. I just call it Bat’leth. '' As soon as he said the words, I felt my hands grip. ''Bat’leth, ''my blade, forged from my own hair. An extension of myself, my deadly will made steal. The will of Kahless. The will of Azaram. We left within moments. I told Nezak… he argued that securing the prisoners and the safety of Rura Penthe was more important. I heard his words… but he was wrong. Besides, the green blood loves paperwork, and I would not deny him. There’s some concern among the crew – we could hang in space for weeks waiting for the wormhole to open, risking detection with every passing moment. I assure them otherwise: “There is only one fire in the darkness, and it lights the Red Path.” There fears were unjustified; when we approached, the wormhole opened like a slit throat. They call it The Temple of the Prophets. Fickle creatures, these Prophets. More aliens, playing us as pawns; after the holocaust of Bajor, I have little taste for their game. As we entered the glowing light, a tremor ran through my body; it seems the Prophets have little interest in my wishes. In that moment, I live for a thousand years. I am stretched thin… and watched. There is a being, a creature of black and white. My fists clench, my hated enemy near once more, vile Molor – this creature shares his skin, but not his face. An Iconian in the wormhole, watching me as if he couldn’t let me pass without seeing for himself. I am Kahless Reborn; I fear no monster. “Captain, we’re losing speed! We have fluctuations in the power core!” Worf’s bellow snapped me back to the journey. “Down to quarter impulse and dropping,” Kveld shouted from the helm, “it’s like we’re being held back!” I took the moment: “Then we will break free. Helm? Warp One –“ “Captain, if we go to warp within the wormhole, we could collapse the subspace architecture!” Words from my trusted Daha Master; I always need someone on my bridge to draw the line between madness and courage. I grinned at Worf: ''“Mak’tah”. '' The ''Kuv ''jumped, and for a moment everything… twisted, with too many angles. We leapt from the wormhole, free for only a moment. Our ship jerked, pulled from warp speed to impulse with a kick to the chest… We were caught in a Tholian Web. There was only a moment to act before it held us forever; I ordered maximum warp… and we ripped ourselves free. The Gamma Quadrant already held more surprises then I would have liked. For days we traveled in the black. We passed under massive Jem’Hadar ships, sliding through space like a wraith. There were only five of us. Trusted Worf, my first officer; K’veld, son of Unagroth, the pilot of my ship; my speaker, the Coridanite Ziiid; and my Andorians, Celak the engineer and P’raisan, standing at Nezak’s station. The bridge became a kind of temple, and our journey… Ziiid had an old human term: a “pilgrimage”. '' '' And then, we arrived. In a section of space that should have been empty, we found a dense field of asteroids, circling an unknown, dying star. There are no precious materials, no hidden planets. There are no warp signatures; no one has been near the place. I hear it before I see it, the singing of a blade becoming sharper. I bring us in closer… and there it is. My sword, hanging in space. They tell me we can beam it aboard, but that seems so impersonal. A Klingon can survive for almost ten minutes in the vacuum of space. More than enough time. I secured myself to the airlock with a tether, and had K’veld vent me into space; to his credit, he did not hesitate. My trajectory was perfect, the galaxy stretching out in every direction, nothing between my skin and the weight of the cosmos. Kahless waged war across the stars with this blade… what did I want to do with it? How do you bring peace with a blade? I reached for the grip, worn smooth by my own hand, thousands of years before… I was dead and alive, ancient and young, two ends of the same coil – I remember everything. ''Our lives are work, our bodies clay. The Gods tell us we are nothing. '' ''Morath is the first to speak. He does so with his fists. Molor is pleased. '' ''Armed and powerful, we were sent to make holy crusade for our Gods, striking the beings of fire and dark. They are called Hurq, but we know them as they are – the devils of Grethor. '' ''Victorious, we are turned towards a new enemy, the beings of ice and evil. Crystal Entities. Side by side, we fight with others, new brothers. Precise Vulcans, silent as they kill; Humans, half mad and completely wild; brutal Bajorans, murderers without pause. And the living weapons, the Changelings, who steal your face for sport. '' ''Defeat. Crushed. Millions dead. '' ''The Gods leave us… but Molor refuses to go. His hatred is too strong. '' ''We are punished. '' ''Morath rises up. I am sent to put him down. '' ''Our battle atop the Volcano of Ram. '' ''My blade at his throat. '' ''His truth to my heart. '' ''Our fire catches, our people rebel, burning Molor’s kingdom with the power of our rage. '' ''My bat’leth, plunging into the heart of my God. '' ''Sweeping across the galaxy, hungry for Iconian blood. A hunger left unsated. '' ''An Empire born from ashes. '' ''The weight of a crown. And one day, setting aside the burden. With a promise to return, I step out towards Boreth, and into the stars. My quarry still eluded me, but there was one place I had not searched. Over the verdant home of the Bajorans, past the ruins of failed Cardiassia, I found them cowering at the gateway to their Celestial Temple. I had chased the Iconian brood to the far edge of space… and they jumped off. One by one, the Iconian cowards disappear into their hole. I will not be kept away, not this time. I have lived too long, seen too much for them to leave us without a word. Our Gods could not abandon us, not when we truly needed them. '' ''How could they turn their back on me? My last thought before death had been the searing pain of incineration, the dispassionate execution of an insect. The Kuv ''swung around, retrieving me; my fingers were barely dusted with frost. For the first time in Azaram’s life, I felt something new… he felt complete. Our decloaked ship had drawn attention. Two Jem’Hadar vessels, Mark II Battlecruisers, the scourge of the Dominion War. I sensed unrest aboard the bridge, Azaram’s crew nervous. These were my men, and we would not die today. '' We charge the enemy ships. Six against thousands.'' Almost fair odds. '' The two ships fire, but the Kuv ''moves like a falcon in flight. A full barrage of transphasic torpedoes leave one of the enemy ships in tatters ''– the weapons of this century are formidable. The one Azaram calls K’veld brings our ship around for a killing blow. '' I would speak to these men before Kahless kills them, they deserve to be heard. A single new ally is worth a hundred dead enemies. The Jem’Hadar don’t return my hails. A single transphasic shuts down their power core, and I beam five aboard for questioning… they say nothing. I remember a cave, and a captured man. Romulan to one side, Vulcan to the other, the passionate debate over the sanctity of a life. ''How foolish Azaram was to listen. Leave no enemies at your back: when a villain is struck down, see that he never stands up. '' It’s almost like I can’t stop myself: our missiles rip apart the helpless vessel. Cruel, brutal… the Jem’Hadar are soldiers without a war. Just clones with no master. ''Just debris in our wake. Azaram is weak; Kahless lights the way. '' Kahless is dead; Azaram walks the path. One face ''and two names. Two feet and no answers. I am lost. -------------//--------------- A general is nothing without his commanders. The blade is nothing without the Hand. There was a wrong I had let sit for too long, a wrong that it was time to right. It’s been almost a year since I saved Chancellor Martok’s life, and only slightly less that I traded him for pledges of Romulan good will. A high price to cross a border. I had done it for a woman, I see that now. Arriennye T’galatheon, as deadly as any blade. But she hadn’t left me with nothing: the personal teleporter. Chances are the Romulan’s would just as soon kill me on sight as negotiate the return of a hostage: to save my friend’s life, I would need a plan. I teleported into my father’s study; the crazy old man didn’t flinch. When I tell him what is in my mind, he grins. ''This is a loyal man, ''says the voice in my head, ''worthy of the Hand of Fire. ''If only my father could hear Kahless’ words of praise; I’m sure he’d be glad to know that madness ran in the family. Once he was finished, I wasted no time in beaming to my target. The last time I walked the halls of Dederedex 3, I was treated like an animal. The Romulan ship yard would find me changed man. At the head of a Romulan Tactical squad was the fat Administrator Ju. “Mr. Azaram, a pleasure as always. I’m afraid I’m going to have to escort you directly to prison”. I coolly lifted my father’s device. Turning from Ju, I addressed the walls, where I was sure to be watched by his handler. I know they can scan it: I know they’re now afraid. “Do I still seem like a pet?” Ju receives word, and just as I expected I was escorted to the inner sanctum; I would speak to the man who put thought to hold my leash. “Would you like to tell me about your toy?” he said once everyone else had left: Mayek, Ariennye’s handler and the resident Tal Shiar power broker. “It started life as a grenade, more than enough to kill us both. It was then augmented with the most arcane of Breen technology… which is why you haven’t killed me. But you’re speaking to me now because this transphasic grenade has enough power to rip a hole in your station large enough for a Warbird to lay eggs. I know you’re not scared. But you are greedy.” “What do you want for it?” ''This Vulcan is a fool, ''Kahless murmured in my head, ''you should kill him where he stands. '' “Martok” I told Mayek, “And friendship. The Klingon Empire is about to become a very bloody place. I wouldn’t have you you circling for carrion.” “You would best mind your tongue Klingon. We are far from scavengers.” “I’m aware; you also prey on the weak. There is something building on Rura Penthe. Something small and sick… you will not harm it. You will not touch it.” ''He’s terrified of you. ''On this, Kahless and I agreed. After a long moment, Mayek thumbed a command into his computer, giving us what we demanded. “You are a very strange Klingon” he said, hiding his concern. I fixed him square in my gaze. “I am not Klingon. I am the Red Path.” He had Martok brought from the cells; If anything, Romulan captivity looked to have made the ancient man younger. He looked angry, exactly as I needed him. I grasped his arm. “Azaram,” he asked me “what is the only fight a man must win?” ''I know these words, ''I hear Kahless shout from the back of my mind. ''This man is a true son of Klingon. ''Turning to Martok, I answer his question: “His last.” As we fucking head in, there’s a Calvin – we warn them about the tholian net, I send a warning to them (Tholian net, watch out – so warns the Red Path) I have my father build a transphic grenade, powered by his crazy power… I teleport to Dederedex 3, with this crazy bomb, and askr Ju and the Eye in the Wall – Mayek - if I still seem like a pet? For one of these technologies, and friendship, I will give them the beginings of my father’s power technology, and in return I will get non aggression to the Red Path, and get martok. In return... we get Martok. What is the only war a man needs to fight? The last war! I tell him… and he’s like, what the fuck – and I look at him… and fucking tell him. I am knocked over in the room – the blade on my hands, the armor itself – BURNS, SHUDDERS- and orders me to Boreth. I see a vision – the same one I first saw… the bloody temple, the statue of Kahless (morath) with crystal eyes) But I feel complete and awesome urge to go to the fucking place. We go to the fucking place. Boreth is dark. There isn’t a life sign. No signs of anything. Take Martok, Allen and Worf… I walk into the great hall. A vibration in my armor. A heavy calm. I see the empty room… some kind of power lives here… I do a religious, psychic, investigation roll… I go and stand next to the statue… in the center of the room… I’m taken by the power of the fucking stuff… I’m driven to stab my bat’leth into the floor – the floor ooens, and is old technology – blue and glowing, and pulses with an iconian technology, the technology of the Gods – but it’s been rigged Klingon differences… this was built from a stolen thing – a secret weapon to boost Kahless’s weapons… and in the center is an Orb of Prophecy. His people stole it, and rigged it to destroy the Iconians. AND THEN WE’RE BEING FIRED UPON – the room DETONATES – throws Martok to his back, and worf to his knees… As we start to beam up – 60 BIRDS OF PREY – an areal bombarment platform – We stared at it.. worf said that Kahless took on an army – we would take on a fleet… And cut to BLACK. “I wish I had my lukara”. Kahless would send the ship and his men away, declare himself, and fight off the enemy hordes. Azaram would beam back to his ship, fight who they could, then retreat back to the Rura Penthe, and mop it up. … I would send everyone to the Kuv, and order them to bring the fleet. Then I would kill until they realized who was the real boss. Maybe…. I do not know. I do not know my heart.